When The Storm Subsides
by SpobyFicStalker
Summary: "Arguments happened, fights occurred… it didn't mean you didn't care. On the contrary, really. Sometimes, especially with Toby, she got the feeling it happened because they cared too much." Post 4x16. Oneshot.


A/N: Hi guys. *waves and smiles bashfully* I'm a long-time reader of Spoby fanfiction (hence the penname) but something I've always neglected to mention is that I am also a writer. I've just always held back from posting anything because, well… there are a lot of really talented writers in this fandom, and I felt intimidated to say the least.

But now I figured I'd rip off the band-aid. Not because I find this story so much better than any of the other stuff I've written, but because it takes place immediately after 4x16 ended. You know how sometimes the ending of an episode leaves you with all these unresolved feelings, and you know you won't rest until you get something down on paper? Yeah. That's what happened to me last week.

You're probably bored of hearing me talk now. Sorry. So without any further ado…

**When The Storm Subsides  
**  
Spencer swallowed, struggling with her tears, always trying to keep them at bay even when there was no one else in the room. She took a shaky breath and rubbed her hand over her face.

How had she messed things up with so many people in such a short period of time? First her father, then Emily, and now even Toby – sweet, patient, wonderful Toby – couldn't stand to be in the same space as her.

_Stop it_, she told herself firmly, _Crying isn't going to solve anything. He's in the next room. Go fix it with him.  
_  
It seemed like such a simple thing to do. The logical thing to do. Arguments happened, fights occurred… it didn't mean you didn't care. On the contrary, really. Sometimes, especially with Toby, she got the feeling it happened because they cared too much.

But she had never been the best at reaching out to settle an argument.

In her defense, it wasn't as if she'd ever learned by example. Disagreements in her house were an almost daily occurrence. They happened over breakfast, in the car, even in the bathroom sometimes. Sometimes it was over mixed up work schedules or who forgot to turn off the yard lights. And sometimes it was about who'd had too much to drink at the club or a certain illegitimate son.

Either way, no one paid very much attention to it, or made any kind of effort to talk it out. It was as if it was no big deal.

Her parents were lawyers. Being dumped head first in disputes was how they made a living, and quite successfully at that. It was as if they had become immune to that feeling Spencer was now experiencing in her gut. That awful, heart-wrenching sensation that came from fighting with a loved one, and that confused daze of hurt, guilt and worry it always left her in.

Whatever it was, Spencer had learned early on that her whole family avoided any form of emotional communication like the plague. As far back as she could remember, they had never sat down with each other and talked through a problem. It was handled in an entirely different manner. Expensive gifts. Elaborate meals. Or Spencer's personal favorite: ignoring it and pretending it never happened.

"Go to your rooms and cool off," had been her mother's way of handling arguments between her two daughters when they were younger, "And don't come out until you've changed your attitude."

Her father's genius method had simply involved warnings along the lines of, "Listen. I had a crappy day at work, so you two better put a cork in it unless you want to see things get really bad around here."

What was the result of all this? Her dad had conceived a child with another woman before even saying his wedding vows, her mom had gone through a cancer scare in utter solitude, and the two girls hadn't so much as emailed each other since the elder moved across the Atlantic.

She sighed, wiping the last of her tears off her cheeks and making up her mind. Whatever needed to happen, it wasn't going to be happening now. She needed some time to calm down before she faced him. To regroup, to remind herself what was important. It was probably best if she just left.

Her suitcase was still here. It broke her heart to realize that she had run away to him last night, and now she was running again, this time from him, to the very man she couldn't stand to be in the presence of in the first place.

Her hand on the doorknob, she hesitated. Something tugged at her heart, and her chin automatically turned to face the bedroom he'd disappeared into before.

_Don't_, she warned herself, _You're just going to make it worse_.

But she found she couldn't just leave without saying anything. If only because she didn't want him to worry. She knew a little something about that, and no matter what happened, no matter how mad she was, she would never want him to feel that anguish over her the way she had so often felt over him.

Her feet carried her into the bedroom, and her eyes landed on him. He was lying on his back on the bed, his right arm flung across his face and the inside of his elbow covering his eyes.

"Hey um…"

He didn't move, and she struggled with what to say next.

"I… you probably want some space, so… I'm gonna take off, okay?"

She turned on her heel, not waiting for an answer, only to feel a hand wrap around her wrist. Gently, always so gently, he pulled her back to him.

"No," she heard him mumble, "No, no, no, no…"

He was sitting up now, a look of desperation in his moist eyes, and it tugged at her heartstrings. He pulled her down next to him and before she knew what was happening, his arms had closed around her and he was rocking her slowly back and forth.

Tears escaped her eyes before she even had the chance to anticipate their return, and she let out a long shuddering breath. He was always so warm and soft – even with his toned, muscled frame his body was never less than inviting. She curled into him like she'd only seen a baby lion cuddle up to its mother in the discovery channel once.

"I'm sorry," she wept, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"

He held her tighter and she felt him shake his head into her shoulder. "No," he said again, and she went quiet.

She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, taking in his scent. Absentmindedly, she curled her hand around his neck, keeping his skin pressed against her nose, unwilling to focus on anything else.

_I love you_, she thought. _I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you._

Her heartbeat slowed down. Her breathing became more steady. Yet he just kept rocking her like a baby in his arms.

It was a long time before they released each other. At least, that's what it felt like to Spencer. Perhaps it was only a couple minutes. It just seemed like a different era, because she'd entered his embrace a bubbling mess, and now she felt a bizarre sense of tranquility.

They both took a deep breath, avoiding each other's eyes for a moment. Then he reached for her hands, stroking her fingers with his thumbs.

"I didn't mean to yell at–"

"No, I yelled more than–"

"It's not you that I'm mad at."

That shut her up. "What do you mean?"

"I'm mad at my dad. I'm mad at myself…" He took a deep breath, and she saw a hint of tears threaten to return to his eyes.

"Why?" she asked, hearing her voice break, "What happened?"

He sighed again, and she couldn't help but notice how he refused to look her in the eye. "I let my father talk me into signing that damn thing is what happened. I… he just wants the whole thing over with and I let him convince me that's what I wanted too…"

He shook his head in disbelief. "He always does this. Makes me believe he's doing what's best for me, and it's only when I've put a few miles between us that I realize he's really only doing what's best for him."

She knew his words rang true, and she felt a flash of anger towards Toby's father. She'd only met the guy a handful of times (she always got the feeling Toby tried to keep as much distance as he could between her and his dad), but that was enough to get a feel for what kind of man and father he was. God knew her own father could be distant, selfish, demanding… but there was absolutely no comparison to Toby's father's apathy.

She was startled out of her reverie when she felt his thumb gently brush away a lingering tear in the corner of her eye.

"I never meant to make you cry…"

His voice sounded hoarse and upset, and immediately she reached up to hold his hand against her cheek in comfort.

"No, it wasn't just you, I… Things happened…"

"What? Your dad again?"

"No. Sort of. But it was mostly…"

"What?"

His voice was soft, his eyes open and inviting as they looked at her intently. She could feel his desire to lessen her burden radiate from his whole being, and it cost her a fair amount of difficulty to tear her eyes away from his.

"Just… just stuff with the girls…"

She was being evasive and she knew it. She felt him tense beside her and it was all she could do to refrain from grasping the clothes on his back and begging him not to run away.

"Spencer," he said slowly, his voice low, "You promised me. No more secrets, remember?"

She flinched noticeably. Why had she ever promised him that? In the aftermath of their reunion at the motel it had seemed like the only way they could move forward, but she should have known that Alison DiLaurentis would find a way to put a stop to their short period of brutal honesty.

She chanced a glance at him, feeling a dull ache in her heart at the forlorn expression on his face.

"I can't tell you." She hated how it sounded like she was pleading instead of stating a fact. "We agreed, me and the girls… It's something we need to keep between us. For now," she added quickly, seeing how his jaw tensed. "Don't worry about it, okay? It's not something you need to–"

"No, I do worry about it. You're upset, and you're lying to me about–"

"I'm not lying," she protested, "I'm just not sharing everything. There's a difference."

She froze. Oh God. Did she really just say that? The same words her father had spoken to her in this very apartment not twelve hours ago. The man she often resented for his hypocrisy and his half-truths. Was this what –A was turning her into?

She ran her hand through her hair, distraught.

"Spencer." He sounded frustrated and hurt at the same time. "I just want to help you. I just want to make everything all right again for you–"

"I know!" she snapped, her voice sounding shrill to her own ears, and she felt inexplicably angry as tears welled up her eyes yet again. "I know, okay? Believe me – I know."

Her composure crumbled and he sighed, reaching for her again. But it wasn't that kind of comfort she wanted. Not this time.

So instead of collapsing against his chest she flung herself at him with everything she had, her lips crashing against his. She shoved him back and moved to straddle him, one hand sliding into his baby soft hair and the other grasping at his back, clutching the fabric of his bright green T-shirt. She felt his body react to hers in a way that never failed to amaze her, as he pulled her closer and slipped a soft, warm tongue into her mouth.

They kissed feverishly for a few moments, as if it had been weeks since they last did this instead of a mere couple of hours. It wasn't long before her hands moved to the bottom of his shirt on their own accord, and he pulled back slightly to accommodate her as she pushed it up and over his head. His hand reached behind her neck to reattach his lips to hers, and she was grateful he seemed to have missed her as much as she'd missed him during their two seconds apart.

More clothes were peeled off and flung across the room, and before long she was completely naked in his arms. He tore his mouth away from hers for a moment, and she saw his eyes darken as they followed her curves. She tried not to blush as his fingertips brushed over her skin, his touch so soft and reverent it sent chills up her spine.

Without warning he stood up, taking her with him, and turned to peel back the comforter. He laid her carefully across the mattress, following close behind, covering her body with his. He pressed hot, openmouthed kisses down her neck and chest, enticing her body in a way that made her want to scream. His hand moved between her legs, and she gasped when he found her soft spot.

His eyes sought out hers and she nodded desperately, indicating she was more than ready. With another searing kiss, he positioned himself between her legs and filled her up. Completed her.

They quickly found an angsty, slightly awkward rhythm. It was as if he had never felt so good inside her. Her eyes rolled back in pleasure, and she felt more warm kisses being pressed against her neck and chin. Her hands clutched at him, his shoulders, his back, his hair – anything to ensure he stay as close to her as humanly possible. Her ankles crossed at his ass for the same purpose. His lips made their way up her jaw to her mouth. They kissed furiously, teeth clashing, tongues twisting together as if they were trying to become one.

It wasn't long before she felt that growingly familiar tingling below her bellybutton. Her hips smashed harder against his in response; he immediately got what she was hinting at and picked up their pace. Their tension built up to a point where it was almost unbearable.

And then, finally, she hit that sweet point of release. He followed soon after, exploding into her, and they both fell back, breathing heavily.

We he moved to pull out, she reflexively tightened her legs around his waist, murmuring a quiet, "No."

Conceding, he buried his long fingers in her hair and kissed her deeply, hovering over her until he went soft and slipped out. He collapsed on the mattress beside her, taking the comforter with him and covering them both as she crawled against his chest. He gently pushed the hair away from her clammy forehead before brushing his lips over her newly exposed skin more than once.

Words failed them as they lay there, entangled in the sheets and each other's arms, waiting for their heartbeats to return to normal. It wasn't as if they were necessary anyway. She knew he loved her. He told her that every day – maybe not with his words, but with his actions. Sometimes a mere look was enough. A kiss. A caress of his hand.

And sometimes it was this. Sweet lovemaking, and a possibly even sweeter afterglow.

After a while, the tender stroking of his fingers against her spine gradually dwindled down, and she wondered if he'd fallen asleep. She raised her head from its comforting spot on his shoulder, only to be met with alert, sensitive blue eyes. She smiled and rested her chin on his chest.

"What are you thinking about?" she inquired softly.

"Well…" He looked so serious, and her heart gave a small, fearful flutter, "Are we ever gonna talk about how awkward it was when your dad caught me in a towel?"

She let out a noise that was a mixture between a peal of laughter and a groan, falling back against his chest. "You're forgetting the part where I opened the door wearing your underwear."

"Oh god…" His fingers went to massage his temples. "I hadn't even thought about that."

"Yeah well… I think it's safe to say my father now knows we're… you know…"

"I do know."

She lifted her eyes to see him grinning down at her adorably. His face sobered a little before he asked, "Think you'll get in trouble?"

She mulled it over. "I don't think so," she said finally. "Because if he punished me my mom would want to know why, and then he'd have to explain how come I spent the night here in the first place…"

Her voice trailed off, knowing it wasn't necessary to finish her thought process. Toby knew as well as she did that her mother could be intimidating to the point of terrifying when she was upset. Fortunately, her husband was no stranger to this either, and when push came to shove he'd rather grudgingly accept his eighteen-year-old daughter was having sex with her boyfriend of over a year than risk opening the can of worms labeled 'Jason'.

The ringing of her cell phone startled them both out of their temporary bubble of bliss, and she scrambled to locate her discarded pants in the midst of his messy room.

"Speak of the devil," she mumbled when she checked the caller ID, crawling back in next to him.

"What? Your dad?"

She found it mildly amusing that the idea of her talking to her dad on the phone while naked in his bed was now enough to make him sound nervous.

"No." She smiled ay him. "My mom." She accepted the call. "Hi, Mom."

"Hi, honey. We just had a delicious meal. I thought your father said you'd be home for dinner?"  
_  
Not exactly how I interpreted the conversation I had with him, but okay,_ Spencer thought. "Yeah, I'm sorry… Something came up."

"Well, have you eaten?"

She only now realized she hadn't. "No."

"Good, there's plenty left over. Where are you anyway?"

Spencer tried to ignore the fact that that was never their first question. Or how there was almost always and 'anyway' thrown in, as if her location was merely an afterthought. "At Toby's. I was just leaving."

She shot him an apologetic look, and he reached out to smooth the hair away from her neck in response.

"Alright. I'll be in bed reading but pop in and say hi, okay?"

"Yeah, I will."

She hung up. Before she had the chance to even glance at Toby he'd already pulled her down into his arms.

"I have to go," she whispered, contradicting herself when she laid her head on his shoulder.

"I know." He paused. "Two more minutes."

She conceded by tangling one of her legs with his.

"I was looking forward to this," he said, his voice quiet, "Waking up like this. Every day."

She kissed his chest, once, twice – before he tilted her chin upwards and met her lips with his.

_Two more minutes_, she thought desperately, sliding her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck to bring him closer. _Just two more minutes of this before I have to get up and face the music.  
_  
Two minutes turned into twenty. But she wasn't complaining.


End file.
